


be the wolf

by nashirah



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Established Relationship, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, bad reality shows, kindergarten teacher!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1356946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nashirah/pseuds/nashirah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first it was mildly amusing - as if all the werewolf stereotypes circulating around were mixed into one, giant stereotype wrapped neatly in an hour (commercials included) of bad puns, gratuitous shirtlessness, unnecessary backflips and scripted dialogues with stilted flirting leading to mediocre sex scenes.</p><p> </p><p>Or the one in which Stiles and Derek watch a (bad) werewolf reality show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	be the wolf

**Author's Note:**

> this is the product of me going "yo guys give me sterek prompts" on twitter. lovely [diana](https://twitter.com/rouxhuntress) came up with "sterek watching/arguing over a mock of their own show" and it kinda evolved into them watching a werewolf reality show. i have no excuses.
> 
> big smooch for quick beta goes to celle, as usual.

"Do we really have to do this?" Derek lets out an involuntary groan. Stiles has already changed the channel and is getting ready, fluffing the pillows on the couch and placing the popcorn on the coffee table in front of it.

"You do realize you ask me this question every week?" he asks as he finally settles, waving the remote with a flourish like it’s a goddamn wand.

"Maybe I'm hoping for a different answer."

"Tough luck, buddy," Stiles practically _chirps_ , patting the space next to him for Derek to join.

"I just came from work."

"You came from work three hours ago."

Derek knows that it's manipulative, but he changes his stance a bit, slumps his shoulders and sighs deeply, feigning tiredness. "It was a rough day, Stiles."

"Oh," Stiles says, dropping the remote and rushing to Derek's side. "You didn't say anything, is it the kids? No, wait, you love the kids, is it that new hire making a mess again, or-"

He stops abruptly about a foot and a half in front of Derek, narrowing his eyes at him.

"You filthy liar! You thought I wouldn't notice, but I did!” He lifts an accusatory finger at him and Derek swats it away. “Besides, you tried this tactic two weeks ago. Did it work?”

“No,” Derek grumbles reluctantly.

“All the evidence against you and you still had to try. You’re so cute.” Stiles smiles, reaches to ruffle Derek’s hair and winces. “Do you have to use so much hair product?”

At that, Derek doesn’t even hide the snort that escapes his mouth. Pot, kettle, really. There was a dark period in Stiles’ life when he was very keen on keeping his hair harder than his dick during their make-out sessions. He stopped after Derek literally broke a few hair strands off of Stiles’ head that one time.

“Come on, I will let you blow me afterwards,” Stiles offers, tugging at his hand. Derek concedes and follows. He has to admit that the sex is particularly spectacular when he lets Stiles have his way from time to time (he _might_ be letting Stiles have his way more often than not, but that’s only because of the aforementioned reason, okay). 

They both settle on the couch, Stiles pushing his feet unceremoniously into Derek’s lap. Derek covers his bare ankles with his right hand and Stiles makes an approving noise.

“Just a fair warning, you are _not_ distracting me with sex. Sex, later,” he says sternly. The effect is slightly destroyed by the moan he lets out when Derek starts stroking the skin of his ankle with his thumb. “No. Bad Derek!”

“Dog jokes? Really?” Derek levels him with a glare and drops his hand. No more not-so-innocent ankle massages for him, then.

“Oh, come on, you don’t have to stop just because you don’t approve of my awesome sense of- IT’S STARTING!” he shouts the last words and Derek groans as Stiles’ foot lands in the general area of his crotch. 

“Man, can’t wait to see the slapping scene,” Stiles says, grabbing popcorn and sinking back into the pillows, spilling the kernels all over himself and flicking one at Derek. “There was a slapping scene with Mandy and the new chick in the preview last week.”

Derek thinks not for the first time in the last two years that he lives with a twelve year old. They’re watching a _werewolf reality show_ on MTV, for fuck’s sake. Stiles claims it’s the best thing since the invention of jelly beans and Turkish oil wrestling and for some god-forsaken reason they’re on part two of season three. Whatever that means. Derek only knows that Stiles tortures him with it every Tuesday, sometimes makes him sit through reruns on Sunday - he refused to catch up on the first two seasons, though.

At first it was mildly amusing - as if all the werewolf stereotypes circulating around were mixed into one, giant stereotype wrapped neatly in an hour (commercials included) of bad puns, gratuitous shirtlessness, unnecessary backflips and scripted dialogues with stilted flirting leading to mediocre sex scenes.

It’s been going on for months, though, and there’s only so much a guy can discuss - there was an episode solely dedicated to _knotting_. Derek remembers that one distinctly, mainly because instead of spending the entire hour laughing himself into tears and making a running commentary for Derek’s benefit, Stiles went into that weird thoughtful mood and afterwards he asked seriously if Derek’s dick was defective because he wouldn’t knot him. He only told Derek he was joking after Derek had spent mortifying fifteen minutes explaining werewolf anatomy to him, and Derek threatened to make him sleep on the couch that night.

Sad truth is, Stiles got invested in the show. And by association, Derek did too. He knows the names of the cast members and begrudgingly follows the (admittedly addictive but full of gaping holes nevertheless) plot.

The opening theme comes on, presenting a whole gallery of characters consisting of douchebags and bigger douchebags to the beat of some atrocious dubstep song that Stiles likes to hum along with. The words THE REAL WOLF appear on screen and they get reminded of what happened in the previous episode.

Which is basically nothing except for a very awkward blowjob scene (the guy _howled_ when he came and Derek almost bashed his head on the coffee table just thinking about the possible questions from Stiles) and a build-up to a slapping scene Stiles has mentioned earlier.

The slapping starts right after the first commercials and it’s _ridiculous_. The characters - Mindy and Clarissa, Derek’s brain uselessly supplies - bare their fangs but not their claws and start slapping each other’s faces while wearing cut-off top tanks and very thin stripes of fabric instead of skirts.

“This is _so_ awesome.” Stiles sighs after the show cuts off to another commercial break and he can take a break from shouting encouragements at their TV set.

“Maybe you should talk about it with Cora. She almost clawed my eyes out once,” Derek comments briskly and Stiles visibly flinches.

“I am not talking about potentially sexy slapfight scenes between two females with your sister, Derek. I value my life.”

Derek nods thoughtfully. He still can’t decide if Cora would have their balls on a silver plate for simply watching it or join Stiles in the half-serious, half-mocking faithfulness to the show. He’s too chicken-shit to ask her that, though.

“What are you thinking about?” Stiles asks after a short pause, nudging at Derek’s ribs with his foot.

“About not paying this month’s electricity bill,” Derek replies and seeing that Stiles doesn’t follow, he adds, “So that they cut off the power and we’ll be spared the finale.”

“You ass!” Stiles shouts indignantly, grabbing for the pillow to throw at Derek, but the commercials end and he settles back once again. “This is not over, you butthole.”

Derek is definitely living with a twelve year old.

“Twenty bucks says the dude is an incubus,” Stiles observes idly as Marco, the buffiest guy of the bunch, starts chopping wood, distinctly lacking a shirt.

“Werewolves can’t be incubi, this isn’t _Twilight_ ,” Derek grits out.

“Alright, one, there are no werewolf incubi in _Twilight_ , two, you mentioning _Twilight_ just made my life, and three, the dude never even showed his fangs, and the others wolf out all the time, so. Incubus. Some sort of sex demon, anyway. You can’t deny this flawless logic when you look at him, okay.”

Derek just rolls his eyes.

Even though it’s hard to admit, Derek is kind of grateful for the existence of the show. He doesn’t appreciate the fact that he’s being made to watch it, but he appreciates what the show is trying to do. Werewolves (and other supernatural creatures) have been known to the general human public for only a couple of years, and this show is the first to try to portrait them in a somewhat positive light. Sure, it’s stereotypical and cringe-worthy, but no more than any other reality show out there with a completely human cast.

Derek has never told Stiles about it - fearing that Stiles would make him read _The Real Wolf_ fanfiction, whatever _that_ is, or buy him all the available seasons on iTunes - but judging by the way Stiles made Derek watch the show despite his protests, he knows.

“Can I distract you with sex now?” Derek asks, pained. One of the female werewolves is painting her claws neon green on screen, and he can feel his own further retracting into his skin.

Stiles cocks his head to the side, considering.

“I don’t know, can you?” Even as he says it, he puts the popcorn bowl away, and it’s the only invitation Derek needs. He lurches at Stiles and gets a soft “ooof” in response when he covers Stiles’ body with his own.

One of _The Real Wolf_ ’s characters’ story about how he took up knitting becomes a background music to their heavy make-out session. It’s so intense that when they part, Derek feels as if he just ran ten miles without stopping.

“Wanna take this to bed, big guy?” Stiles asks, sounding as winded as Derek feels.

Bed is a good idea; great, even. The logistics of it turn out to be more difficult than expected, though, because neither of them is willing to part for longer than necessary to draw a short breath before they launch back into kissing. Stiles resolves it by literally _climbing_ Derek so that he can lift him up and carry him to the bed, but then the entire plan backfires when Stiles grinds down, hard, and Derek just has to stop.

“You are always so worked up after watching that show, it’s my favorite part of the evening,” Stiles breathes out from where he’s pinned to the wall next to the bedroom.

“If this is the moment you tell me you only made me watch all this crap because of the sex, I’m-” Derek growls for good measure, but it comes out weak. He’s still firmly attached to Stiles’ neck, Stiles’ pulse beating strongly against his mouth.

“Nah, buddy. It was just a very pleasant bon- oh god. Yeah. Bonus,” Stiles chokes out. “I know you secretly like it.”

“I don’t,” Derek replies and moves his face a bit higher, mouthing at Stiles’ earlobe.

“You so do. I know you solidarize with that outcast omega living off in the cabin in the woods, brooding all day long,” Stiles says, lifting his hands to rake his fingers through Derek’s hair. “He only gets screentime because he looks great in leather jackets, I mean, there’s a certain similarity-”

“I got the hint that you think he’s me the first fifty times you mentioned it, Stiles.”

He’s honestly impressed Stiles still wants to talk, even though they’re both ready to drill for diamonds with their dicks, if the way their jeans seem suddenly too tight is anything to go by.

“Not that I don’t appreciate all the manhandling, but I thought we’re going to do this more horizontally?”

“Pushy,” Derek murmurs but complies, depositing Stiles on the sheets and crawling besides him, trying to shuck his pants off along the way. Stiles sees him struggling and rushes to help him, and with their doubled efforts, the pants soon get abandoned in a small pile of clothes next to the bed, along with both their shirts and socks.

Stiles bluntly shoves his hand in Derek’s boxer briefs and Derek glares back at him, or rather, he glares at Stiles’ legs, which are still clad in a pair of ratty jeans. It’s offensive, so he sets on getting them off of him. 

While one of Stiles’ hands is still trapped in Derek’s boxers.

It requires a bit of flexibility and a healthy amount of rather unsexy bending but finally they manage to take off all the unnecessary pieces of clothing, which is to mean - all of them.

“How do we want it?” Stiles asks, and it’s so low that it almost sounds as if he’s talking to himself, so Derek cocks an eyebrow.

“We?”

“Yes, we, Stiles, are wondering,” Stiles rolls his eyes and because his hand never left Derek’s dick, he gives it a light squeeze. “My preciousss.”

“This is the worst Gollum’s voice I’ve ever heard,” Derek says, not quite believing this is his life.

“I can do better.”

“Do you honestly think this is the time and place for practising your LOTR impersonations?”

“We could roleplay,” Stiles suggests, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Or we could just fuck.”

“Or that.”

Stiles bursts into a delighted laugh and pushes at Derek’s shoulder until he’s lying down on the bed. He straddles Derek’s hips, one hand on his stomach, the other reaching for the bottle of lube from the nightstand.

Derek takes it from him quickly, slicks his fingers and wraps them around both of their dicks, lined up against his abdomen. Stiles rolls his hips encouragingly and Derek grips them more firmly, jerking them off.

Stiles bends down and Derek props himself up on one elbow so he can meet him halfway in a kiss that is more teeth-clashing than anything that reminds of actual kissing. Stiles bites Derek’s lower lip and drags his tongue along afterwards, licking his way inside Derek’s mouth.

“Grab it like you mean it,” Stiles says after they part, a wicked grin spreading on his face. He takes his hands from where they rest idly next to Derek’s elbows and intertwines his fingers with Derek’s, still on their dicks.

Together they work in a nice rhythm until Derek decides to flip them over so that their positions are reversed, Stiles raising his eyebrows at him in a silent _now what_. Derek decides it’s a question that doesn’t need an answer and fucks into their joined hands, picks up the pace until Stiles is writhing under him.

“I think-” Stiles starts, only to let out the filthiest moan.

“You _think_?” Derek asks, partly because he’s genuinely curious how Stiles still has any brains left to even attempt thinking, and partly because he still can be an ass.

“Oh, shut up, you know what I mean,” Stiles pants and thrusts up into their hands uncontrollably, losing their rhythm and just rutting helplessly when Derek tries his hardest to jerk them off.

It’s not long until Stiles tenses, shouts a half-hearted warning and comes all over Derek’s fingers and his own chest. It takes Derek a few more jerky thrusts and he’s coming too, making even bigger mess of Stiles’ chest.

He collapses on top him and just lies there for a few seconds, until Stiles starts pawing at him and telling him to get the fuck off of him.

Because Derek is still pretty much sex-stupid after they clean up a little, he lets Stiles drag him into a lengthy discussion about the ridiculous refractory period shown on _The Real Wolf_. It’s an ongoing topic, really, because Stiles is fascinated. He was hell bent on checking the theory in real life a few weeks ago and Derek had to increase his daily workouts to keep up (not that he minded, to be honest. Once again - mind blowing, innovative sex is a great incentive).

“It’s called editing, Stiles,” he mumbles, burying his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck. “That’s what they do on television shows.”

“Unless you were holding out on me.”

“We have sex all the time.” Derek points out. It’s not like Stiles can see him, but he rolls his eyes anyway. He’s sure Stiles can feel his judgment.

“Yeah, but I mean. We could have _more_.”

“One word: chaffing.”

“ _Ouch_. Right,” Stiles says, dragging his fingers down Derek’s spine. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about self-lubri-”

“No.”

“But-”

“I’m going to watch the finale with you without complaining if we just cuddle for now and go the fuck to sleep,” Derek says, tightening his grip on Stiles’ waist.

Stiles doesn’t say _Derek Hale used the word ‘cuddle’_ , but Derek can feel him practically vibrating with smugness anyway.

* * *

When the date of the long-awaited finale comes about, Derek is late. He’s _so_ late and he feels his gut churning at the thought of Stiles’ disappointed face. He shot him a text a few hours ago that he might be a bit late, parent-teacher conference day and all. He didn’t count on the parents of a group of six year olds to be so demanding of lengthy explanations, though.

He lets Allison - the human to his werewolf at the co-ed kindergarten they run in Beacon Hills - handle the incessant questions about the human children’s safety.

By the time they’re finished Derek is more exhausted than after an entire week of trying to teach the werewolf kids how to play hide and seek fair and square with their human friends (there was a lot of tears and name-calling, but he can proudly say the attempt ended with a resounding success). And it’s after eight, which means that no matter how many speed laws he breaks, he’s not gonna make it on time.

He calls Stiles from his car, waving at the last parent leaving the building after him.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Stiles sounds genuinely confused, and Derek frowns.

“For not being there to watch the dumb show with you. I know it’s important to you, I know, okay, but the conference-”

“Derek,” Stiles interrupts him, and there’s laughter in his voice. Derek’s tight grip on the steering wheel loosens a bit. “If you think I would be mad at you for missing one episode of some _dumb reality show_ ” Derek can almost hear the air quotes he’s making, “then you’re so wrong it makes me reevaluate my high opinion on your intelligence.” Derek sighs then, relaxing.

“Alright.”

“Swing by that nice burger joint and grab me some curly fries.”

“Alright,” Derek agrees and smirks. He can deal with Stiles’ pettiness. It’s a relief he’s settled only on making Derek drive to the other side of the town to get him fast food, really.

He can practically hear the glee in Stiles’ voice when he speaks again.

“By the way. I TiVo’d it.”

Only werewolf reflexes save Derek from driving his car straight into the nearest tree.

**Author's Note:**

> idk there might be more (because let's be real, kindergarten teacher derek), stay tuned


End file.
